How is it possible that a year has passed since you arrived? Time is flying by so quickly that I can hardly keep up. But alas, Little Roo, you are a year old already! The last year has been a whirlwind of work and nursing and chasing your brother and nursing and chasing you and nursing and barely any sleeping at all. But it has, in its own way, been wonderful.

I look at you, and I see joy. I see unbridled, unfiltered love and curiosity. You are unyieldingly tenacious and gloriously stubborn in a way that I didn’t think was possible in such a young baby, but it will serve you well in life. You have already shown us that you go after what you want, and you don’t give up!

You are goofy and laugh at things that I would fail to see the humor in without you. You make your dad laugh easier than I’ve ever seen anyone else do. He walks in, your face lights up as you say “Dada!” and then his face lights up to match yours. It’s truly amazing.

You are an ideal baby in all respects except one…the sleep thing. Let’s talk about the sleep thing. You are an absolutely AWFUL sleeper! For a long time, you woke up every 45 minutes unless you were sleeping with me. Now, after a year, you’ll sleep for a few hours on your own before demanding to sleep with me or not at all. Truth be told, as much as I protest, a part of me loves to sleep with you. You are warm and cuddly, and it helps me feel close to you. But nonetheless, it would be great if before your next birthday you could figure out how to sleep through the night. Let’s work on that, ok?

You are chatting up a storm. You can say mama and dada and boo, cat, and dog. You can ask for more and tell me you’re all done. You refuse to call your brother anything besides “beh” which we can’t quite seem to figure out but accept anyway. You adore him. You watch his every move with wonder and awe, and the second you are both on the floor together, you climb on him.

I need you to know that I feel a connection with you that I have never felt before. When you were just under 2 months old, as I sat in the sleepless haze of a dark, warm room nursing you to sleep, I wrote this, and I’ve felt this way since the moment you were born:
“I believe that I am interminably connected to you in a way that no other two people are, except maybe me and my own mother. I would know you anywhere. I believe that in a dark room filled with a thousand babies, I would find you in an instant. You are my blood and my blood is you.”

Maybe it’s because you’re a girl, and I feel like I understand the struggles you will face more than I can with your brother. Or maybe it’s because you’re the baby, and my last chance at this motherhood thing. There’s a savoring that happens with a child when you know he or she is your last baby. I am more acutely aware of the fleetingness of it all than I was with the first, so I stop and live in the moment, enjoying the sweet smell of baby on you whenever I get the chance. All too soon, you’ll be running alongside your brother, and I won’t be able to fully breath in your babyness anymore. It’ll be a scent that I try to remember, but can’t quite grasp.

Whatever the reason or reasons, the connection is there, and it runs deeper than I anticipated. It’s difficult to put into words. It’s like there is a string tied directly from my heart to yours, and it carries all of the feelings you feel to my heart so that I can feel them too. It’s just a knowing, a familiarity, a truth, that I haven’t felt before.

You and your brother are the light of my life. You give me purpose and remind me what’s truly important in life every single day. I love you with all my heart and I cannot wait to see what the next year brings. I love you Little Roo. Happy birthday sweet girl.